


Hexual Feelings

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Controlling Behaviour, Controlling Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fellatio, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Dean Winchester, Oral Sex, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Protective Dean Winchester, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5004178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re convinced something unnatural is making Dean “love” you.  There is no way, at all, he could like you this much.  At all.</p><p>“His hand froze, close enough for you to feel its heat against your ear.  With your peripheral vision you watched him cautiously, both of you paused.  You heard him swallow, his breath breaking past his lips again.  Then his hand began to move down over your neck, the shape of it echoing your form, like he was imagining the feel of your skin.  A part of your mind raced in the distance, scanning a list of possible explanations, but at front and centre you were galvanised.  His hand ghosted down your chest and over your breast, barely a half inch away, fingers rippling over your waist, and hovered.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful [but-deans-back-tho](http://but-deans-back-tho.tumblr.com/) over at tumblr promoted this one recently, so I thought I'd share it here too.

“Dean?”

“…Mmm?”

“Dean.”

“…Yeah?”

“You’re very close.” Your voice bounced off his chest.

“Yeah…”

“You should move back.” Since you couldn’t, thanks to the kitchen bench.

“I should…”

“Dean,” you cleared your voice, “I’m gonna cut you some slack, coz you’re so pretty and all, but I can feel your breath on my face and, to be honest, I’m a little concerned.”

“Mmm,” he raised a hand to your cheek, “I just-“

“Hey, don’t touch me,” you warned, flinching away from his touch.

His hand froze, close enough for you to feel its heat against your ear. With your peripheral vision you watched him cautiously, both of you paused. You heard him swallow, his breath breaking past his lips again. Then his hand began to move down over your neck, the shape of it echoing your form, like he was imagining the feel of your skin. A part of your mind raced in the distance, scanning a list of possible explanations, but at front and centre you were galvanised. His hand ghosted down your chest and over your breast, barely a half inch away, fingers rippling over your waist, and hovered. You wanted to pick up his wrist with two fingers and just place it elsewhere, but you imagined triggering something.

His head was dropped now, his mouth by your ear, looking at his hand pretending to hold your hip, your own hanging close by and ready for a quick draw. Breath high in your chest, you whispered carefully “Don’t touch me,” as kindly as possible.

He looked back to your face, your cheek and evasive stare. “…But I so want to,” he whispered back.

“I know…” you tried to speak firmly. “Something’s wrong.”

The motel door opened and Sam was there, noisy and bright. “Oh for fuck’s sake! Couldn’t you-“

“Sam!” you interrupted. “Sam, a little help!” He looked at you, intensely confused.

Dean had grabbed hold of the bench beside you, his face now over your shoulder as he strained at his imperceptible distance.

You spoke quietly as Sam closed the door. “If I touch you, you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, please.”

You hesitated… “You going to behave? Should Sam help?”

“No,” he pleaded, and pulled back to look at you, his doleful gaze being more than enough contact.

Sam watched as you slowly put your palm to Dean’s chest and pushed him away. He took the single step back and stood there, eyes on you as you avoided his. He leaned into your touch.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“I don’t know, he just- sorry, could you close your eyes or something please?” His obedience was just plain peculiar. You turned back to Sam, “He came out of the shower and was just… _here_.”

“Dean, you feeling ok?” Sam approached carefully.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “I’m good.”

 _“How_ do you feel?” Sam asked from beside him.

Dean opened his eyes and you stared at your hand, just to be safe. His weight was beginning to work on you. As you adjusted your hold, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist, rested the other hand over yours. It was warm and smooth and terribly distracting.

He spoke smoothly and firmly. “I… want Y/N.”

Your chest tightened and you looked for help: _What the hell Sam?! Save me!!_

“Uuuuh,” Sam tried, “I think you should sit on the bed, Dean.”

Dean walked backwards, you stepping awkwardly as he held your hand against him, and sat.

“Sam,” you breathed, “what are we gonna do? This is nowhere near right!”

Sam looked at you with hesitation, his eyes flicking between you both.

“Yeah… you’re right… something is off.”

“No shit. Wait,” you frowned suspiciously, _“why_ do you want me?” Cannibalism maybe? Or a sacrifice…?

“Because I love you,” he said, like it was the mostest truest thing in the world, apparently hurt you didn’t know. He let go of your wrist and wrapped his hand around your bicep, bending your arm to pull you closer. “I want to prove it. _Y/N_ , I want you every way-”

“Stop!” you squeaked, and fell on your knees as you lost your balance, his hands still holding your arm to him. “Shit Dean, couldn’t you have just said I’s beautiful or something?”

“You are beautiful,” he complied, “you always have been.”

“Shit,” you whispered. “We have to figure this out Sam.”

“Yeah… yeah, we really do.” He grabbed Dean’s jacket and ran his hands over the pockets and hems, then searched their gear, feeling all the nooks and crannies he could find in Dean’s bags, the bed table, and under furniture. After looking at the kitchenette taps, he dashed into the bathroom, hoping there was a clue. You waited patiently for Sam to be as thorough as urgency would allow. At some point you noticed yourself leaning: Dean was slowly pulling you toward him. “Stop it,” you ordered. He sighed slowly, and patiently slid himself forward on the bed to perch on the edge, his knees now framing your shoulders. “Don’t get off the bed,” you added. So he rested there, focused on you, his thumb grazing your skin as he looked you over.

“No hex bags, nothing.” Sam pulled a chair up to your side, in easy reach of Dean. “Dean, do you remember eating anything before you showered?”

He breathed deeply, seemly put out by Sam’s interruption. “Orange juice,” he slurred.

Sam checked the bottle from the fridge and shrugged at you since it seemed fine. “Can we test it?” you asked. “When did we buy that?”

“Actually, _fuck_ ,” Sam realised. “Like four days ago, when we were” -you knew- “hunting that witch” you finished his words with him. “ _Fucking_ witches,” he cursed, slamming the fridge.

“And she’s dead too,” you reminded. “Can Cas help? He can usually explain whatever the hell’s going on.”

“He is convenient,” Sam agreed.

“No, no Cas,” Dean said, firm and sure, “no Sam. Just you Y/N. They don’t need to be here.”

“Dean,” you glanced at Sam hesitantly, “Dean, you’re not well. We need help to get you better.”

“We don’t need help, Y/N. You always make me feel better. You heal me, you make me happy, Y/N.”

You were starting to get worn down by the way he kept saying your name. It wasn’t like being tortured by a demon, or teased by a vampire. You could dig your heels in for the long haul when liars poked at your heart’s secrets. But with Dean doing it, Dean who is the secret, you struggled to find the indifference you usually played. You looked at his hands, his sad, determined jaw, unable to really look at the way he gazed at you in case your face gave him hope, or an offer, or something you didn’t know to hold back.

“I’m fighting here,” he squeezed your arm painfully. “It’s so hard to not show you. To be still,” he whispered. Now you couldn’t even look at Sam.

“Okay, let’s give Cas a call.” You stood abruptly, trying to break your arm away, but he rose with you, bending your arm a little more and leaning into you. His height was over you in an instant. You backed up as you pushed against him with your spare hand. Repeating his name, the warning quickly morphing into a plea, you stepped back and his steps mirrored yours. Soon the wall was the second closest thing and your voice jumped in pitch at bring trapped.

Sam appeared over his shoulder, “Dean!”

He paused, looking at you but tilting his head to acknowledge Sam, his breathing quickening. “Dean, let Y/N come with me to call Cas,” he bargained. “We’ll be right back.”

“No. You go. I’ll keep her safe.”

“No, Dean, she has to come too.”

“Dean,” you tried, hoping desperately that looking at him directly would be the trump card you needed. It seemed to give him hope, and you found yourself struggling to stay unaffected as his expression changed. It was like your eyes were taped open, all his emotion pouring into you. “Dean, I really want to go, and I want to come back. Please wait here for me.”

You stood there, gaping, as he took in a shaky breath, tears suddenly welling. “Promise me you’ll come back,” he whispered wetly. He seemed in genuine pain.

“Of course Dean,” you assured, “of course. I’ll always come for you. I promise.” The words just slipped out. He collected the back of your neck, leaving your hand still against his sternum, a damp patch growing beneath it, and kissed your forehead. The gesture almost broke you, and you bit your bottom lip, fighting to keep your chin relaxed. _Any feelings I have for Dean are in a nice tight box,_ you reminded yourself. _I just need to put the box down… and back away…_

You felt his grip give just slightly and you slipped yourself down, under his arms and out from between him and the wall. As you and Sam headed for the door, you looked back to check on him, and he was still there, head bowed, palms to the plaster.


	2. Chapter 2

You stomped your feet in the cold as Sam crossed his arms and made the prayer. “Cas… we’d like your help please. Dean has become strangely obsessed with Y/N and we’re both a bit scared. It’s intense and he can’t seem to do think about anything else… So if you have time to provide-“

“If he has time?” you interrupted. “Sam, I can’t be in the same room with him and he won’t let me leave! We need help now!”

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, “well, yeah Cas, as soon as you can please.”

You both looked around. Nothing.

Shuffling in the chilly air was a good cover for your condition. You were still shaken, distracted, embarrassed… He had been so close to you, in detail you’d been avoiding for months. All those little things you’d _specifically_ ignored during the stitches and patchings, the awkward sleeps and hangover breakfasts… eyelashes, freckles, edges of stubble, lip creases, eye colour… the seams were disappearing from your memory’s collage, and yet he was exactly as you recalled, because you knew him in minute detail already.

Sam cleared his throat. You stomped some more, shuffling your weight. He shrugged, frowning at the no show. “Well, what do you want to do…?”

* * *

“Dean?”

“Don’t touch me Cas.”

“I don’t mean to touch you. What is so wrong that Sam has had to call me?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Dean answered tightly. “He’s probably jealous.”

“Of what?”

“I love Y/N.”

Cas squinted at Dean and came to stand beside him, almost leaning against the wall. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean kept his head down and his hands up. Cas took hold of his arm, only to have his own snatched and his self quickly shoved against the wall, a furious warning in his face. He allowed it, unperturbed, and looked into Dean’s eyes with concern.

“There is no spell on you, no curse or witchcraft,” he said plainly.

“Of course there isn’t,” Dean growled. “You should leave. I’m waiting for Y/N.”

“Dean, how long have you loved Y/N?”

Deans scowl faltered, slipping down to Cas’ tie as he tried to measure the time… “I’ve always loved her.”

“Like this?”

Dean couldn’t answer, and found himself glaring at Cas for raising such confusion.

“How did you feel about her yesterday?”

Even this indignant, Dean couldn’t help but answer the question, if only to prove his feelings were true. “I… she grabbed my wrist last night, during a card game, but I wanted to hold her hand. And she cleaned my wounds last week. I close my eyes when she does it,” his tone had eased off, but the pain remained. “I dream about her bathing me, Cas, after hunts. Her smell is distracting, and I want her when I catch it. I can’t see anything when she looks at me, I just feel…”

“Dean, you’re emotions seem based in truth,” Cas diagnosed, “but they are unnaturally strong.”

“No,” Dean ground out, pushing again. “They’re accurate. She should be with me.”

Cas took a deep breath. “Has anyone touched you this morning, besides Sam and Y/N?”

Dean thought… “A waiter patted my shoulder,” he admitted reluctantly.

“A _waiter?”_ Cas repeated. Around these parts, most people who waited tables were women. _“Gabriel!”_

“…You whined?”

Castiel angled his head to peer over Dean’s shoulder at the tricky archangel behind him.

“Have you done this to Dean?” Cas demanded.

“Only the top layer,” he chirped, rocking forward on his toes, hands in pockets. “I thought he could do with a little push.”

“You pushed him too hard. Y/N is scared.”

Gabriel shrunk back a bit. “Yeah…” he bobbled his head in concession, “I shoulda known the Winchester scale was a little strong. Turned out he goes to eleven.”

“Take it away, Gabriel,” Cas ordered. “He is not a toy.”

“I’m not doing it for fun,” Gabriel approached them, finger raised. “Not entirely… I’m just sick of watching him puppy over her and her doe eyes over him and it goes nowhere! But _This!_ This is a start, yes?!”

“Gabriel, have it stopped now!” Cas was raising his voice.

* * *

 

Sam burst in, you close behind, to find freaking Gabriel talking to Dean and Cas.

“What the hell?” Sam barked at Cas. “How long have you been here?!”

“You _called_ me,” he said, “And it seems Gabriel the cause of Dean’s pain.”

“It’s only pain because you all are standing in the way!” Dean yelled, shoving Cas away from the wall and out of his reach. “You can all get the hell out!!” He caught sight of you and strode over, slowing only to run a gentle hand over your cheek, checking you over, and wrapping you in a tight embrace. “You’re okay?” he murmured.

He was so close and his smell hit you like a drug, all that warmth and strength focusing on you again. You began to notice how hard it was to pretend you didn’t want it. “Yeah, of course, I was with Sam, just outside,” you assured. You glanced at Sam, afraid and worried and tortured. And Gabriel saw it.

“Aw shit,” he slumped. “Okay… _okay,_ I can see I’ve stuffed up this one. Sorry Y/N, truly. And to you too, Dean. I should leave this stuff to Cupid. No hard feelings hey?” He stepped closer and nodded to Cas as he slapped a hand on Dean’s back, the angel disappearing momentarily.

Dean breathed in sharply, but didn’t move. Cas nodded at Sam, and was immediately gone himself.

You waited.

“Dean?… You feel alright?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice lighter.

“I’m okay,” you answered.

He cleared his throat a little, let go, and stepped back. Well back. He looked ashen and ashamed, eyes low.

“I’m not angry at you,” you said carefully. “I’m just worried that you’re okay.” He swallowed and frowned, pocketed his hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dean. In fact, you were really good.”

“Yeah,” he nodded a little. “I’m still sorry.”

“Okay, well, just for 10 minutes or so alright? You’re not at fault here.”

He coughed out a smile and shifted his weight a bit. “Hey, I still care about you, you know?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Sure.” You all looked at each other. Sam sighed, Dean sighed.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna take a shower!” you announced. “That was a liiiittle stressful.”

“Ha, yeah, good idea,” Dean smiled.

“Okaaay… got my towel…” you beetled around the room, “got a clean shirt… cool… alright.” And closed the bathroom door behind yourself as casually as ever.

With your hand on the doorknob, you pursed your lips, breathing steadily to fight the tears, because _of course_. Of course something had been _wrong._

It didn’t matter whether Dean actually did like you, whether that behaviour was rooted in true feelings. He didn’t like you enough to do anything about it, and although you would miss them both more than anything you’d ever known, you resolved to leave that afternoon.

* * *

You heard the front door close and the bedroom had gone quiet. Ducking out of the bathroom, hair barely towelled dry, you began to hastily pack your bag. As you turned to clear things off the bed, there sat Dean against the bedhead, laptop on his knees.

“What are you doing?” he asked pointlessly.

You paused, busted, and then continued to collect your belongings.

He put the laptop aside and climbed off the bed. “Were you going to say goodbye?” he asked.

No. “Yes!”

Oh that’s his _You are so full of shit_ face.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked.

“Getting food. He thought we might need some privacy.”

“What a guy,” you said dryly, wishing you had a crowd to hide amongst.

“Y/N,” there it was, not like before, not a lick of longing. _“Y/N!”_ Oohhhkay maybe- “Hey,” he gently hooked a hand around your arm, “hey don’t go. We can get past a stupid prank.”

“I will miss the shit out of you two,” you said, “but I really do need to go.”

“Why? Hey,” Dean tried to get hold of both arms as you collected things. He emptied your hands, placing stuff on the bag, and stood before you daring you to be honest. “Tell me what’s going on. What’s the problem?”

“Fucking what?! Dean! You just-” You put your hands on your hips, incredulous that he couldn’t figure it out. “I was scared for you, for us, and hurt for me.”

“You know I would never-“

“No Dean, the problem is that I want you do to those things, just not like that.”

He stared at you, unreadable. “How did you know to stop me? I mean, how could you tell it wasn’t me… being… intense?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it all, because it just sounded so pathetic, but your eyebrows, man, your face said it all: _Are you fuckin serious? As if Dean. As. If. Sweet Jesus this sucks._

He did one of those light scoffs, as if to say “Waddyaknow” and kind of… marvelled at you. Which was vague as all hell so you went on. “So I’m leaving because,” you counted the reasons off on your fingers, “holy fuck, awkward, not reciprocated, Dean Winchester doesn’t do girlfriends, and tears ahoy. It’s not an option.”

You went back to packing and soon you began to repack, folding t-shirts and shit, coz Dean was in your way and he hadn’t moved an inch.

“And this isn’t me blackmailing you into trying a relationship, Dean,” you ranted. “I’m not giving you an ultimatum between being with me and me going. I’m just going. I’m not standing around in a ‘2nd place’ sash every time we go out.”

“Sorry Y/N,” you heard, then from right behind you, “you’re staying.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean turned you, the heels of his hands fast on your cheeks, palms blocking out all noise, and giving you got a wide-screen of hopeful-princess eyes. You gulped and then he kissed you. Your head swam with that damn smell again and feel of his skin on yours, full lips working against your own. He moaned slightly as your hands unconsciously landed on his wrists and you tried to catch up and kiss him back.

Both of you heard the door open, then slam, and turned to see no one there. Maybe it had been the neighbour’s door? Then, as you stared at the empty space, he caught you, lips behind your ear and you gasped, every hair on end. “Jesus, Dean!” you were trying to be sensible, “Are you sure?”

“I can still feel how much I wanted you, Y/N,” he said into your neck. “I don’t… it’s not that different now, just, the tunnel-vision is gone, you know? I can think of other things.”

“I know,” you assured, forgiving.

He had a hand on your waist, holding you still, and you turned to look at him as he came up to describe it. “It was like I had one job: _love Y/N_. And it was peaceful and warm …” Maybe he was afraid of his reasons, or you looked like you need more convincing. “When you look after me, I can forget about so much crap. I get distracted by you, I look forward to it. I _think_ of you… Y/N, I can’t remember not wanting you.”

All you could do was hold still. It was a fight but you didn’t want to shrug it off, or laugh awkwardly, or smile like a dope. You just listened and hoped you looked kind.

“Do you want me to? You want me here?” he checked. You slowly began to nod, deeply, before being interrupted by Dean’s phone. He pulled it out to look at the text, which was from Sam: You have 10 mins. ONLY TEN.

He showed it to you, grinning, and threw it on the bed. You stared at it lying there, then found yourself staring at the bed… “Sam’s onto it,” he remarked.

“I think it’s a good idea,” you said quietly, “but I am biased.” You smiled at him and felt your heart cut laps in your chest as he cracked a crinkly, hopeful smile right back at you. You were still wrapping your brain around to the idea that this, being _more than friends_ , was happening next.

“Okay, well, I reckon you owe me a little,” he murmured, slowly running his hands up and down your arms.

“What do you mean?” you worried.

“Hey I pretty much vowed my deepest love to you today and I got nothing in return,” he was only half joking and you could detect the edge in his voice.

Dean pulled an almost-genuine smile. You waited, letting him to see your empathy at him having been so vulnerable. He dropped the façade, licked his lip, but was unable to shake off the shyness so you threw him a line.

You reached up and carefully dragged soft fingers through his hair, then down his jaw line, watching your hand so he could watch you. Touching him like this for the first time was exhilarating and you made the most of it, tracing every little thing. His face softened, and he relaxed a little too, sighing into it.

“I said I would always come for you.” You tiptoed to plant a soft, simple and nervous kiss on his lips, watching him go still as he got your point. “And I already have. Many times.”

“Oh,” he whispered, “Shit.”

“Yes.”

“Ten minutes is not enough.”

“Nope,” you shook your head. You were feeling grateful and, to be honest, hornier by the minute: maybe there was a way to even the day. “But, hey, you know what we _can_ do in ten minutes?”

“Eight,” he corrected.

“Whatever,” you took his hand and led him to the bathroom, closing and locking the door.

Leading him to lean against the counter you took a moment. “Ok, I need a little reassurance: do you really want me?”

“Yeah, Y/N, Don’t go. It’s-” he went to wrap his arms around you.

“No,” you pushed his chest back, again, and grabbed the waistband of his jeans, right over the button, yanking his hips toward you, “I mean, do you _want_ me?”

His jaw went slack and it took him a second… “Yes,” he nodded solemnly.

You undid his jeans and slipped both hands in, palms smoothing over his boxers and around his hips. “You want me here?”

“Yeah,” his face followed you as you looked down at what you’d gotten a hold of: “Yes.”

You moved your hands behind him, jerked him forward to release the jeans from his hips, and slid them down a butt that was - sweet Michelangelo’s chisel - exactly as firm as you imagined and down the back of his legs, tracking the tendons. You knelt in front of him and placed your hands on his shins, watching him tense as you slipped them passed his knees, and inched your fingers up under the hem of his boxer shorts.

“Keep going?”

“Nng-hhhhIf that’s alright with you,” he breathed, gripping the bench-top edge as he looked down at you.

You tickled the hair around his crotch, stroking his balls. He shivered against you, swallowing a moan in his throat. You cupped him gently, beginning to stroke the silky skin above, and barely believing that this is what you were doing before lunch today. You were reaching further on each stroke, and eventually came to run the tips of your fingers around the rim of the head.

He took in a sharp breath. “Y/N, dammit, that’s-”

“You’re right, we don’t have much time,” and you flipped your hands over, palms out, gliding up inside to grab the waist band of his boxers, drawing it down to reveal his cock, and using it to pull him forward as you caught the head in your mouth. You licked and nibbled, ignoring the curses from above, and hummed over him. “Oh Christ, Y/N, that feels so sweet,” he moaned.

As you began to bob, remembering the time again, he sucked his teeth and brushed his fingers over your hair.

The front door slammed and you both froze. Before he could say anything, you pinned his hands to the bench edge. “No, _Y/N,_ ” he whispered and gasped as you plunged over him, staying as deep as you could.

“Dean?” you heard through the door.

“Yyyeah?” he called nonchalantly.

“…Are you alone?”

You pulled back to flick your tongue over him, keeping him firm while he talked to his brother. He tried to casually use the groan, “Uuuugh just give me a minute?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake guys,” Sam bitched. “ _Half an hour._ I got shit to do, too.”

Before the door had slammed again you’d already gone to town. He gasped and moaned, biting his lip to keep from swearing. “Ah, God… _ss-soon,”_ he warned. You went harder, using your hand to work him and you felt his grip tighten on your hair as he came into your mouth. You slowed, rolling with the pulsing aftershocks, and gently licked him clean before pulling up his boxers and pants.

He watched you, waited and grabbed your head as you stood up to kiss you manically. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he muttered around the kissing, “that’s not what I would’ve started with.”

“Really?” you tried to say, “S-morry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, pushing you across the narrow space to the wall. He nuzzled and ate at you, ravaged your neck and kissed you in nooks that made you gasp. You’d think coming would slow a guy down…

“You know what?” the smirk above you suggested an idea was forming. “I had such plans for this-”

“You’re kidding me? _Plans?_ Since when?!”

“Tell ya later,” he dismissed, “but right now, honey it’s payback.”

“Waddyamean? For what?”

“Goddam making me come like that, and with Sam outside,” he muttered, running his hands over you, “I’m going to have you with my tongue,” he kissed you gently, a ghosty lick on your lips, “and my fingers.”

“Oh, oh… kay,” you watched him lord over you. _This_ was payback? Well, gee.

“But that’s it,” he grinned. “I figure you’re gonna want a bit more after that.”

Dammit yes, that would be fucking torturous, but you hesitated to let on how the flicking and fingering would only make you jittery, _itchy,_ for fullness and impact. You were ridiculously aroused, your whole groin buzzing, brain stuck, fumbling, between being tantalised and sooking.

“What? Dean,” you searched his face for some mercy as he looked you over. “Why… why would be you mean to… why?”

He came in tight, arm around your waist and lifting you a little to fit between your legs. “Because your mere fucking presence has teased me since day one,” he began to lower you both, your ass soon resting on his knee, your back still against the wall, “and our first fuck will _not_ have a time limit set by Sam.”

“I…,” you smiled a little, “I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

“You will be.” The look he gave you was just the beginning of what he did to your pussy. Laying you down on the cold floor, a shagpile mat only partially cushioning you, he unbuttoned your jeans with one hand, jerked them down the hips and left them around your thighs. He slowed to run his fingers over the cushiony skin and hair and looked at you sweetly, full of gratitude. Then he jumped gears, excited by another idea. “Gimme these,” he said, pushing your shirt up to your arms pits - “oh, mercy,” - and gently gathered your breasts to sit them outside the bra cups. He was worshipful, caressing, diving in for some kissing and nuzzling, your hands all about his ears and hair, before settling back and running his thumb over one nipple. He watched it harden, you trying to maintain your demeanour, then slightly pinched, grazed the tip, and lightly plucked at it. You finally gave in, twitching at the sensations shooting to your centre, a little sound escaping you. That was the cue he wanted: he plucked and brushed again, then gently _pulled_ and _rolled_ and watched you close your eyes, unable to pretend to be unmoved any more, your jaw dropping open. You heard him moan before a hot wet warmth engulfed your labia, his tongue firm and smooth tunnelling between the folds and pushing north, and all bets were off.

He teased at every step, treating your clit like some damn traffic island, licking and laving at your lips, working your nipples so lightly that you couldn’t even tell what he was doing but God it was electric. He used his nose and chin to nudge at your softness, his bluntness infuriating against your clit, the pressure creating flashes of pleasure that zapped across your pelvis but with no true friction.

He slipped further out of reach, his hands holding your hips like a bowl, and you felt his warm breath wash over your inner thighs as he tongued at your opening. He licked the sides, circled the opening, then reached in, his teeth pressing against you, and tongue fucked you deeply, deeper than you expected. “Oh, shit, Dean,” you moaned, grabbing his hands and tilting yourself for him, “that’s _special.”_

Your voice kept rising, his attention to the walls and edges feeling so nice. Pulling away, he moved back up to your mound, nuzzling and moaning. “Y/N, you look so gorgeous from here, all pink and smooth,” he rasped. He gently pulled your lips apart to kiss in the wetness and you pulsed every time he hit your clit.

The play was exquisite but too superficial; his damn teasing had you wanting him elbow deep.

“Dean?” you said, more breathlessly than you’d hoped.

“Mmm?” he popped up, all shiny.

“Could you…? Um-“

“You want more?”

“Y-hes,” you thumped your head on the mat, “more please.”

“Some of this?” he asked, circling your opening with a finger.

“All of that,” you said, jaw tense.

He circled harder, winding his way into you like the thread of a screw, then back out again. You were trying to keep yourself reasonably still but this was maddening. You thought you could feel a second finger there. Using the wall of the bath above, you pushed yourself along the floor, his fingers finally getting some depth, almost tipping that point-

“Hey! Woah!” he yanked his hand away, “you cheeky monkey, no-no-no-no-”

“ _Fuck Dean_ ,” you groaned. “If you’re not going to fuck me don’t be an asshole about it!” You had one hand vicing his arm and the other over your eyes.

“Jesus, Y/N!! When did you get so-”

You popped your head up, grabbing his ear at half-strength, “I swear to at least three gods, Dean, if you don’t fuck me with something _right now_ I will get you back like a bitch, _so help me Gabriel_.”

His face slammed into yours, lips bit between you, and he swore into your mouth as he pushed to you back to the floor. His fingers dived in, reaching as deep as he could angle and you gasped and cried out against his dominating kiss. With his other hand’s firm grip on the back of your neck, cradling your head to him, he panted with you, your hands grabbing and scratching as his fingers crossed your g-spot over and over, motioning for your orgasm to come.

He leaned over and murmured in your ear, his low tone thrumming against your neck while he watched your face. “Go Y/N, go do it. Holy hell, Y/N you’re stunning, just go baby,” he coached. You grit your teeth and tried to reply “God- Dean- dammit- that- _ooh!”_ and you felt all your energy race to your pussy, vibrating it all to smithereens.

He slowly stilled and kissed you and you wound down, your breathing noisy and pleading. You stroked his forearm as he withdrew and resting his hand over your mound, letting you roll against him gently, your noises turning to hums. As he watched you writhe lazily against him, your cheeks and lips all rosy, he stroked your hair and took in a sight he’d created.

As soon as you stopped rocking, he leaned down to kiss you, slow, sweetly, with a gentle tongue and pecking afterthoughts.

The sound of the Impala pulling up rumbled through the floorboards. “Ohshitreally?” you breathed and wrapped your arm over your face.

Dean chuckled and reached down to pull up your pants, while you slipped your breasts back in their cups. He ran a thumb over the edge of your bra, keeping you from lowering your shirt, eventually caressing your belly as he thought. “Did I hide it that well? You really thought I didn’t like you?” Dean checked.

 _“Couldn’t_ like me,” you corrected. “I just didn’t think I was your type, so I packed it away.”

“Pffft! Matter of time,” he commented, ignoring the sound of Sam in the next room. “Gabriel was trying to speed things up.”

Your face twitched with curiosity. “Because he knew how I felt about you,” he added.

“What the fuck ever happened to buying you a beer and the ol ‘Go tell her how you feel man’?”

“Trickster, remember?”

“Are you two still in there?” Sam asked from outside.

You both took a deep breath. “We’re not doing anything Sam,” you announced, “just havin’ a chat.”

“Really.” He sounded doubtful.

“Yep, just catching up,” Dean assured.

“Sorry about before,” you said.

“Ugh, don’t worry about it… Hey, do you-” he opened the door to the scene of you side-by-side sprawled on the floor, dishevelled, both pants open, your shirt up, Dean half draped over you. “Oooh _what?! Goddam it!”_

“No Sam!” you moaned over him as he apologised and retreated. “Never open the door!”

 _“Never_ open the door Sam!” Dean smiled. Sam’s muffled gripes kept on as you and Dean stirred him: “Not the door!” “Sammy! The _door!”_

_“I’m sorry I opened the door!”_

“That’s okay Sam!” you yelled back. “You’re okay buddy!”

Dean laughed, giggled, and ran his hands over you don’t know where because he was looking straight into you with peaceful eyes. “As if I wasn’t going to fall for you…”


End file.
